Boris Akunin - Special Assignments

'I cannot live in a palace of stone,' the boy replied sternly, looking back. 'It blinds the soul. But you, Samson, do this. Tomorrow, when matins has been sung, come to Iverskaya Street. I shall be there. Bring a pouch of gold coins, and be sure it's full. I wish to entreat the Virgin for you again.'

Everybody watched as the holy fool walked away, with the black raven pecking at his shoulder and cawing hoarsely.

(The raven's name was Balthazar. He was a trained bird, bought at the famous Bird Market. The clever creature had quickly mastered a simple trick: Mimi stuffed millet into the shoulder seam of her shirt, Momos released Balthazar and he flew to the white shirt - at first from five paces, then from fifteen, and then from thirty.)

He came, the bloodsucker. Just as he'd been told to. And he brought the pouch too. Not actually a pouch, but a big, heavy leather purse. Kuzma was carrying it for his master.

During the night, as was only to be expected, the charitable general had been tormented by doubts. No doubt he had tried the Holy Virgin's ring with his teeth, and even tested it with acid. Have no doubts, Your Bloodsuckerness, it's an excellent ring, fine old work.

The holy fool Paisii was standing slightly to one side of the chapel - standing there calmly, with a cup for offerings hanging round his neck. When people put in enough money, he went and gave it away to the cripples. There was a crowd of people standing round the boy, at a respectful distance, eager for a miracle. After the previous day's occurrence the rumour had spread round the churches and the porches of a miraculous sign, a raven with a gold ring in its beak (the story had changed in the telling and retelling).

Today it was overcast and colder, but the holy fool was still only wearing a white shirt, except that his throat was wrapped in a piece of cloth. He did not glance at Eropkin or greet him when he approached.

From his position, of course, Momos could not hear what the bloodsucker said to him, but he assumed it was something sceptical. Mimi's task was to lead Eropkin away from all the places crowded with people. There had been enough publicity; it was no longer needed now.

Then the man of God turned to go, gestured for the paunchy general to follow and set off straight across the square, on a path directly towards Momos. Eropkin hesitated for a moment and set off after the holy fool. The curious onlookers were about to swarm after them, but the black-bearded janissary cracked his whip a couple of times and the idlers fell back.

'No, not this one; he has no sanctity in him,' Momos heard Mimi's crystal-clear voice say as she stopped for a moment beside a crippled soldier.

Beside a twisted hunchback the holy fool said: And not this one, his soul's asleep.'

But when he reached Momos, who had taken up a position slightly apart from the other female beggars, the boy stopped, crossed himself and bowed down to his feet. He told Eropkin: 'Give the pouch to this unfortunate woman. Her husband has passed on, and the little children are asking for food. Give it to her. The Holy Virgin pities such people.'

Momos began screeching in a piercing falsetto from under the woman's headscarf that was pulled almost right down to his nose: 'What's this "give"? What's this "give"? Whose boy are you, eh? How do you know about me?'

'Who are you?' asked Eropkin, leaning down to the widow.

'I'm Marfa Ziuzina, father,' Momus sang in a sweet voice now, 'a wretched widow. Our provider passed away, and I've got seven to feed, each one smaller than the last. If you gave me ten kopecks, I could buy them some bread.'

Eropkin snorted and looked at the widow suspiciously. 'All right, Kuzma, give it to her. But make sure Paisii doesn't run off.'

The black-bearded hulk handed the purse to Momos - it wasn't so very heavy.

What's this, father?' the little widow asked in fright.

Well?' said Eropkin, turning to the holy fool without answering. 'Now what?'

The boy mumbled something incomprehensible. He dropped to his knees and beat his forehead three times against the cobblestones of the road. Then he pressed his ear to the stone, as if he were listening to something. Then he stood up.

'The Holy Virgin says tomorrow at first light come to the Neskuchny Gardens. Dig in the earth under the old oak tree beside the stone arbour. Dig where the oak is overgrown with moss. And you will have your answer, servant of God.' The holy fool added quietly, 'Come there, Samson, and I will come too.'

Ah, no!' Eropkin exclaimed craftily. 'What kind of fool do you take me for? You're going with me, brother. Take him, Kuzma. You'll be all right in a stone palace for one night; you won't melt. And if you've cheated me - you're for it. I'll have my gold coins back out of your throat.'

Momos crept back and away, quietly, without getting up off his knees, then straightened up and darted off into the labyrinth of streets around Okhotny Ryad.

He untied the purse and put his hand in. There weren't many imperials after all - only thirty. Samson Kharitonovich Eropkin had decided to be mean; he'd been tight-fisted with the Holy Virgin. But never mind, the Mother of God wouldn't be stingy with her own faithful servant!

When it was still dark, Momos dressed with plenty of warm padding, took a flask of cognac with him and assumed his position at the spot he had spied out in advance: in the bushes, with a good view of the old oak tree. In the twilight he could make out the vague outlines of the white columns of the rotunda. At the hour of dawn there was not a single soul in the Neskuchny Gardens.

Momos's combat position was thoroughly equipped and prepared. He had just eaten a pork sandwich (never mind about the Lenten fast) and taken a drink from the lid of his Shustov cognac, when Eropkin's sleigh came rolling up along the alley.

The first to get there was the mute, Kuzma. He peered cautiously all around (Momos ducked down), walked around the oak for a moment and waved. Samson Kharitonovich walked across, holding the holy fool Paisii tightly by the hand. Another two men stayed sitting on the coachbox.

The boy walked up to the oak, bowed to it from the waist, and pointed to the agreed spot: 'Dig here.'

'Get the spades!' Eropkin shouted, turning towards the sleigh.

The two strong young fellows walked across, spat on their palms and started pounding away at the frozen earth. The earth yielded with wonderful ease, and very soon there was a clang (Momos had been too lazy to bury the treasure very deep).

'There's something here, Samson Kharitonovich!'

'What is it?'

'Seems like something metal.'

Eropkin dropped to his knees and started raking the clods of earth away with his hands. Grunting with the effort, he pulled up a copper vessel, green with age, out of the ground (it was an old saucepan, clearly from before the Fire of Moscow - bought from a junkman for fifty kopecks). Something glimmered faintly in the semi-darkness, catching the light from the sleigh's lantern.

'Gold!' gasped Eropkin. A lot of gold!'

He tipped the heavy, round coins on to his palm and held them up in front of his eyes. 'They're not my imperials! Kuzya, light a match!'

He read out loud: "An-na, emp-ress and au-to-crat ..." It's old treasure! There must be at least a thousand gold pieces here!'

Momos had tried to get hold of something a bit more intriguing, with Jewish letters, or at least Arabic script, but that had worked out too expensive for each coin. He'd bought gold two-rouble pieces from the reign of the Empress Anna and lobanchiks from the reign of Catherine the Great for twenty roubles apiece. He hadn't bought a thousand, but he'd bought plenty; there was lots of this old stuff in the antique shops at the Sukharev Market. Samson Kharitonovich would count the coins afterwards - he was bound to - and the number was a special one, not accidental; it would have its effect later.